


Upon the Shores of Dawn

by Chicory



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2226981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chicory/pseuds/Chicory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After centuries of waiting Merlin awakens to welcome Arthur into a new world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upon the Shores of Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago but I find this incomprehensible and I'm not too sure on the characterisation, either, so I haven't posted this till now. But then I started feeling vaguely guilty about not posting anything for the past few weeks (because I haven't finished writing anything) and Cerch said this was pretty so here it is, a fic! _Enjoy._
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Nothing belongs to me. Except this drabble and all the mistakes herewithin <3

His memories have been reduced into mere myths.

His King has been degraded to less than that; perhaps, perhaps based on a true historical figure. But King Arthur himself, no, he was a fabrication. Nothing but a figment of imagination.

As if Merlin had never seen him smile, the teasing tilt of his mouth, as he looked at Merlin beneath dark lashes. As if he had never spent hundreds of nights, thousands of nights, listening to Arthur breathe across the campfire from him. As if he had never felt the heat of his skin as he'd helped Arthur dress, the desire to mouth along the incongruously vulnerable curve of his spine.

As if Merlin had never held Arthur in his arms as his eyes turned to glass, mirrors of the sky above, vast and empty and a clear, clear blue.

Merlin does not care if the world forgets Arthur's existence. If the humans do not feel his presence in the shimmers of sunlight. In the smell of deep earth during rain. Merlin does not care, because he remembers, keeps vigil over his memory in his own heart.

He does not know if this new world deserves to have Arthur's memory anyway.

Merlin has seen them turn the world black in ashes, destruction flitting like pennants after their wake, dead piled upon dead like mountains in their history of petty squabbles and greed, heedless of the ripples of suffering their deeds cause, ripples that would echo long after the reason would be gone.

Merlin does not find them deserving, and neither does Arthur for he has not yet awakened in a thousand years.

His time is near, however.

Merlin can feel it; the world tearing like a tapestry at the seams.

His old senses awaken, sluggish like a rusted machine. Merlin feels the earth rumble underneath. Feels the air shiver like the pulled strings of a lute. Feels the stirrings of an immemorial magic that reaches out—almost playfully—beckons Merlin forth from a deep slumber like whimsical reflections of light through sheets of ice.

 _Time has come. Embrace your King_ _._

The tree creaks and sighs in a sudden wind as Merlin begins to separate his being from it. Tries to regain the image of his limbs—how they worked and what they looked like. Pale and gangly, more often than not failing to do as he wanted.

The tree bends, splinters, flakes off like dust around him. Like dead skin.

Merlin stands up on uncertain legs like a fawn taking its first step. Overhead, clouds gather in the sky. Roiling and amassing together until not a sliver of blue is left, only the harsh shades of iron and steel.

The wind picks up, whirls into a gale that screams like a legion of banshees, rends trees from their roots as if they are nothing more than toys tossed by a giant's hand, its hunger blind and indiscriminating. Merlin turns his face into it and breathes, listens to words only he can hear.

 _Your King awaits_ _._

Rain begins to fall as Merlin walks down the slope to the past shores of Avalon.

There used to be a lake here but it was drained dry after the development of a nearby dam. It had been a sacrilege, just another crime against Arthur they had not known they had committed.

The rain is a mere drizzle at first, whipping along the wind like thin darts of ice. Merlin ignores it, not feeling the sharp sting of its chill on his bare skin. He stands on the shore as the water climbs up to his ankles, higher still, and waits.

He has waited for a long time.

This rain is a punishment, a promise of salvation, and as it keeps falling, the waters of Avalon slowly rise. And Arthur rises with them.

He is as Merlin left him—all those centuries ago—adorned in his armour, peace on his face. Merlin feels his heart speed up, jittery like a newborn bird, unfamiliar after living as a tree. He thinks of his veins as his roots, his arms as his branches, and gains a resemblance of balance in this old new body.

The clouds part above, just a slight, and the sun shines down, a touch upon Arthur's brow. His body basks in it, resplendent and beautiful, a picture of what had once been and what would be once more. Merlin waits, breath brittle in his throat.

At last Arthur opens his eyes, lashes wavering.

Merlin cannot help but call his name, his voice barely above a whisper.

Arthur stands, water rippling around him, gentle like a mother setting her child on its feet. He stands, and looks at Merlin, and smiles.

And Merlin throws himself into the water, into Arthur's arms that come up to catch him.

Their mouths meet, desperate and hungry for years and years lost, but Merlin still feels Arthur's words right into his soul, stronger than any spell he's ever cast.

 _I'm home_ _._

The world cries around them, and Fate laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)
> 
> As I said, I have no idea what this is about.


End file.
